In the span of 30 days my grandparents – Everlyn and Raymond – lost their individual fights with Cancer, and though it caught them at the winding spectrum of their lives, I still can’t help feel cheated.
It cheats, almost rewriting the rulebook on how one’s life concludes or is remembered.
Cancer is lazy, sluggish; purposefully inebriated. At times taking years to materialize, like a storm cloud moving across the sea powered on invisible tortoise legs. And at others times blowing through one’s life like an open front door – taking; stealing, in a moment’s eye. But always toward the end, Cancer proves rapacious and inexorable, tearing down lives in a matter of months. Reshaping memories in seconds.
It’s selfish, this disease, this grouping of eaters, as it spares no demographic, but cheats earnestly.
As I write this I can’t help but toy with the body politic that is my own humanity – my mortality – and wonder “..are the choices I’ve made thusly prepared me to have the same kind of family nest my grandparents had?” – shit, I’m still not use to referring to them in the past tense.
There are a scrum of emotions on my mind right now, and though I’m incline to feel any one way about them, I will not employ a casual or conservation esteem on this matter(not now). I will not restrain myself.
There is no one enemy in all of this, no target to aim my distasteful comments toward. Cancer too is omnipresent. And even in this, when prepared to release a volley of my own discontent, I am cheated.
Cancer has snatched many away – many personal lives snuffed out, after months or days of fighting the pure fight for a promise of continuous breath. I know I don’t need any formal experiences on this matter; I don’t need to point to a pedigree of education to prove my distain on this topic. We are all, at one time or another, professionals when it comes to experiencing, explaining, or accepting Cancer.
I don’t want this to be an open entry on what transpires next. I will not make this an item of compassion seething enquiry. I held my tongue, and all signs of personal promotion, when my Grandfather passed two weeks ago. I will not invite, though it is both warm and merit-conditioned, any words on this subject.
I am angry. But it will pass. My thoughts are now mixed up, after spending a good year repairing the locomotion and rails it rolled upon.
But, I am angry.